


crassula ovata

by ezramando



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezramando/pseuds/ezramando
Summary: you're an earth literature teacher starting another new term when you notice a mysterious man in your class.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first fic for this fandom! also feel free to follow me over on tumblr @ezramando!

It was a dying discipline. Every year you waited for the com from your department head that they were pulling the course. You knew they were just looking for an excuse at this point. The curriculum was shifting and changing with the times. Earth had been deemed inhabitable over a hundred years ago. But somehow, ever semester, every spot in your Earth Literature class filled up on day one of registration. There were several theories about the phenomenon. Your colleagues would jest that you were too easy on your students, that word had spread about the course being an effortless writing credit they could knock out. Once you got an anonymous student survey revealing a gentleman only took the class because “the professor was smokin’.” Whatever the true reason was for your class’s popularity, you learned not to question it – though you secretly hoped it was purely based on an ongoing passion for the subject matter.

As much as you loved teaching the course itself, being able to ramble and rave about the writings you hold so dear, your favorite thing about teaching was the first day of a new semester. Entering a room full of fresh faces, a collective of new minds to open. You’d soon get to learn about each and every one of them through their own writing, learn how they connect with each piece you study. You’d get to hear their unique voices, bringing new ideas and perceptions into a topic that others would say had no room for anything new. The first day always reignited your love for your job all over again.

The only thing you loathed about your position was the classroom you had to teach in. It was a shared space, as most rooms at the university were, so you were unable to do much to liven up the unadorned aluminum walls. The room was towards the center of the massive building, so the only light source was an oppressive ceiling lamp that cast the room with an artificial white glow. The space was annoyingly industrial and cold, following the same architecture and design as most of the urban planet of Cinereus. It made you miss the character and warmth of your home planet of Uirentia.

The best you could manage was your small jade plant. Every day you carried the little blue pot to and from campus, letting it sit on the podium of whatever room you occupied that day. The tiny bit of green made all the difference in your mind; it was your lucky charm.

You fiddled with your data pad, stood at the front of the classroom as the first of the students began to trickle in. You offered each a smile as they chose their seats, and you began to scan the new faces. A taller figure shuffling into the back row caught your attention immediately. He settled in his seat, plopping his data pad on the table before him. A flash of blonde hair at his hairline stood out amongst the rest of his brown locks and neutral-colored clothing. His charcoal short-sleeved henley hugged his figure revealing that his right arm was gone. A hooked nose rested above pouty lips and a smattering of patchy facial hair covered his jaw and upper lip.

He was beautiful.

His dark eyes captured yours and a knowing smirk appeared. Your gaze fell back to your pad immediately, cheeks warming at being caught staring. But you didn’t need to stare. After only a few moments, the man had been burned into your subconscious. His presence fascinated you. He was definitely your senior, and didn’t seem the type to want to spend an hour twice a week learning about classic literature. Most of your students tended to be the bookish type – timid but intelligent, searching for a creative outlet current society maybe didn’t provide them with. This man was rugged – you could imagine him having a profession where he used his hands – or hand – like mining or construction. What in Kevva’s name was he doing here, in your class?

A glance at your data pad’s clock showed you it was time to begin. You filed away your wonderings about the mysterious man for the time being, taking a deep breath before addressing the room.

“Welcome to Earth Literature,” you announced before introducing yourself. “I look forward to spending the next several months discussing the writings of geniuses past.” You tapped at your data pad. “I’m sending you all the seating chart. Please enter your name on the seat you’re occupying before we get started.”

One by one, names popped up on your screen. You were notoriously awful at remembering names – the chart made the process of getting to know your new students easier and less embarrassing. Your eyes were glued to the upper corner of the screen as you waited patiently for the name you were most curious about to pop up.

_Ezra._

An interesting name for the intriguing man. _Helper or helpful._ You wondered if he would live up to his moniker in the days to come.

You began your class by reviewing the syllabus, outlining each of the time periods, writers, and specific pieces of writing you’d all be studying over the semester. The students seemed to be receptive, asking clarifying questions and taking note of your answers. You then transitioned into your introduction to the subject, pulling up your presentation on the brief history of Earth literature. Every so often, your eyes flickered to the back corner, curious to know what Ezra thought – almost as if you wanted his approval. But every time you glanced his way, you were met with a neutral expression. You also noticed he never took notes, never tapped away at his pad like the rest of his fellow pupils.

You tried not to let his inaction throw you. There you were, a room full of interested students hanging on to your every word, and you were more concerned with the one man who didn’t seem to care. With a shake of your head, you focused on finishing the rest of the presentation before announcing the first reading assignment: a collection of Shakespearean sonnets. You had always considered it the perfect first reading; not too heavy and a good way to get the discussion ball rolling.

You dismissed the class, watching the students file back out of the room. Ezra was one of the last to leave, taking his time to get to his feet before grabbing his pad and following the procession of his fellow scholars.

The door slid closed with a _whoosh_ , leaving you alone in the stillness of the aluminum chamber. You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Never in your almost ten years of teaching had you been so affected by just the presence of a student. He was just a man! He hadn’t even spoken a word to you! Yet he had already taken up more of your thoughts than you cared to admit.

With a shake of your head – as if that would clear him from your mind – you gathered your belongings, careful to keep your jade plant balanced, and ventured off to the commissary to grab a quick bite before your next class.

–

Going into the new semester, you had assumed it would pass by in a blur much like the past few years had. Your course teachings had become so routine, you could do them in your sleep. Usually the discussions on each book or piece of prose were the same – the same ideas debated, the same concepts dissected.

But you could have never anticipated Ezra.

The man was truly an enigma. He never took a single note – his pad would always sit on the table in front of him completely untouched. Yet he never missed a class and never arrived late. He didn’t speak up in discussions, choosing to simply sit and observe. Yet every single assignment he turned in was pure genius – he wrote with such passion for the subjects and he discussed ideas that had never occurred to you before. How someone could find such new takes on such old literature astounded you. If you were being honest, he probably didn’t even need to take the class. Arguably, he was teaching you more than you were teaching him.

You wanted to talk to him. Pick his brain about anything and everything. Listen to him rant and rave about his favorite writers and take turns reading different passages to each other.

Mostly because you wanted to hear his voice.

You imagined it as low, with an edge to it. A raspiness that came from age and experience. Sometimes you’d tuck yourself into your armchair in the corner of your cozy apartment and reread his assignments, hearing the gravelly bass you imagined he’d sound like in your head. Part of you was dying to hear his voice for real; your eyes would always drift over to him during class discussions, telepathically willing him to speak his mind. But part of you was terrified of the day he did decide to participate. You’d had such a strong reaction to the man’s physical presence after simply being in the same room as him for the first time, you were unsure if you’d actually be able to handle finally hearing his voice.

You found yourself having that internal debate once again as you collected your belongings before class one morning. You’d barely gotten sleep the night before, instead spending your time rereading Ezra’s latest assignment - an analysis of _Pride & Prejudice_. He’d written over a thousand words on Lydia Bennett and how important her character’s treatment was to Austen’s commentary on marriage and society at the time. You were blown away – no one had ever written an analysis on Lydia before. You had never really given her much of a second thought yourself - focusing most of your attention on Elizabeth and Darcy.

Half of you wanted to hold him after class and discuss the assignment with him. But hearing him speak? Being alone with him? Those concepts alone were terrifying.

As you did a mental checklist of your supplies for the day, you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something. You had your data pad, your keys, your ID badge – the jade plant. You spun around to face your small kitchen, but it wasn’t in its normal spot on your windowsill. You gasped as you came to a realization – you had probably left it in the classroom.

You boarded the shuttle to campus with a deep sigh. You held little hope that your small blue pot would still be there - the cleaning droid probably disposed of it. But maybe the luck of the plant would protect it and you’d find it perched atop the podium when you arrived.

It had been hard to come by – plants themselves weren’t very common on Cinereus, let alone ancient Earth plants like the jade plant. They were pricey as well, your little blue pot had been half a paycheck. But you believed the credits were worth it, as the plant not only brought you luck, but comfort in the lonely life you led.

You were lost in your thoughts once again when the train car slowed to a stop and the automated announcement crackled through the old speakers above you.

_Station eight one three. Zentra Shopping District._

Your eyes went wide with panic – you had been so distracted by your absent plant that you’d missed your stop.

After scrambling to find the correct shuttle and practically bolting across the concrete of the school’s campus, you finally made it to your classroom. The door slid open to reveal thirty sets of eyes trained on you, and a glance at your data pad told you your slip up had caused you to be ten minutes late.

“Sorry everyone,” you panted, trying to catch your breath as you filed down the walkway dividing the room. “One of those mornings.” You hastily dropped your bag on the metal desk at the front of the room and took your spot at the podium. Those same thirty pairs of eyes stared back at you, the atmosphere filled with an intense silence. The stillness of the room was almost unnerving as you stood there, completely overwhelmed, out of your element, and unsure of what to do. It was then you glanced down at the podium you stood before, and sure enough: no jade plant to be found.

You bit your lip as you tried to fight the tears threatening to fall. You felt embarrassed - normally you were so put together and prepared. You were _never_ late, _never_ disorganized, _never_ speechless like this. And you couldn’t help but beat yourself up – it was just a plant. Why were you letting it ruin your day?

And then you made the mistake at looking at Ezra. His gaze struck you - he looked almost concerned. It was the most amount of emotion you’d ever seen him express in class. You could feel your face heating up as you looked down at your data pad. _Get it together_ , you scolded yourself.

You closed your eyes and took a breath, the silence beginning to become unbearable. And when your eyes shot open again, you began.

“Okay, let’s continue where we had left off with _Little Women_. Um…Kellen, why don’t you tell me about…uh–” You placed a hand on your forehead as you tried to remember one of the discussion topics, _any_ of the discussion topics. “Um, in what way…uh…oh, um, can you tell me in what ways did, um, Mr. March’s absence shape the girls’ behaviors?”

As Kellen rambled out an answer, you tried to listen and absorb what he was saying when a movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention.

Ezra was tapping away at his pad. His brow was furrowed in concentration as his fingers tapped the screen with speed.

You stared at the man, completely confounded by his sudden interest in taking notes. Had you finally found a book he was unfamiliar with? Were you getting the opportunity to teach him something?

But then another thought occurred to you – what if Ezra was never truly a student? What if he was employed by the university, sent by the department to observe you. You knew cameras recorded every second of your class sessions, but what if they sent in a specialist? Someone whose job it was to scrutinize everything about your course, find faults and mistakes, and then report back to your boss?

He wasn’t taking notes on Kellen’s half-assed analysis. He was taking notes on _you_.

Your panic subsided, and disappointment took its place. The mysterious man who plagued your mind was a plant himself. But not the lucky kind.

As the class dragged by, you never truly recovered. You stumbled over words, lost your train of thought, and mistakenly called students by the wrong name. And every time you looked at the time on your data pad, what felt like twenty minutes passing was only five. Eventually Ezra stopped tapping at his pad, choosing to lean back in his seat and observe you with the same neutral expression he had for the last four weeks. By then you felt entirely defeated - you knew this would be your last semester and you were devastated. You realized that you would have to start looking into taking your teachings to another school - you hoped that there were still colleges out there that welcomed Earth teachings.

You began to entertain the idea of dismissing class early. You still had a half hour to go - but you were so off your game that you didn’t want to subject the students to any more.

But then the door at the back of the room slid open, revealing a delivery droid. The student who had been speaking (you hadn’t been paying attention as to who or what they were even saying) fell silent as the droid slowly navigated down the aisle towards you. It stopped at the podium before its automated voice recited your full name. You stared at it in confusion as its hold opened, a small square parcel inside. After hesitating for a moment, you reached for the parcel, a grey plastic container no more than six inches on each side. The droid’s robotic voice announced a successful delivery before the machine rotated and exited the way it came in.

You were frozen with bewilderment as you stood there holding the grey box. You hadn’t ordered anything, and even if you had, you would have had it delivered to your apartment.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” a female student’s voice asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the room since the droid had appeared. You looked up from the box to find thirty faces looking at you expectantly. With a nod, you unfastened the clips on either side and lifted the lid. In a bed of shredded packing paper sat a healthy baby jade plant in a small yellow pot.

You were speechless, mouth hanging open in shock as you pulled the succulent from the container. You held it in both hands for a moment, admiring its perfectly oval leaves and its strong sturdy stem. And for what seemed like the tenth time that day, you tried not to cry.

Someone from the university must have spotted the plant in the trash or something. Maybe you were more appreciated by the department than you thought.

With a grin, you placed the pot on your podium, took a deep breath, and continued where you had left off.

Somehow, as if by luck, you’d managed to finish the class without another hitch. And you could have sworn that at one point, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ezra smile.

–

The next week passed by uneventfully, and after acquiring the new jade plant, you were extra careful to never leave it behind.

You found yourself cuddled into bed one night, grading everyone’s _Little Women_ papers. You submitted your comments on a mediocre analysis of Jo and Laurie’s relationship, only to find that the next essay was Ezra’s.

You were apprehensive – Ezra’s presence in your class was still such a mystery, and his behavior the day you were late still puzzled you. With a swig from your glass of wine, you began to read his essay.

It was perfect, as always.

Why? Why was he even around? Why did he have to show up every single class and stare at you with his big brown eyes? What was the point when he could probably teach the class himself? And why had he chosen the worst day of your entire teaching career to finally take notes? Was he there simply to torture you?

You couldn’t take it anymore. The man took up too much space in your mind and you needed answers. And the only way you were going to get those answers was from him.

You didn’t leave a single comment about the paper. Instead, fueled by the glasses of wine you’d downed that night, you typed five words into the box – _see me after class tomorrow_ – and tapped ‘submit’.

You spent the rest of the evening agonizing over the upcoming meeting. You rehearsed your questions for him in your head, psyching yourself up for the interaction. Your conflicting thoughts about the man swam through your mind – you’d deny your attraction to him, instead choosing to describe it as mere _fascination_. And at the same time, your suspicions of the man’s true intentions lingered.

After a good night’s sleep and a relatively uneventful morning, you had almost completely forgotten about the forthcoming conversation between you and the mysterious man. But when one of your students raised a hand at the beginning of class and asked for clarification on one of your comments on their essay, you cringed, suddenly remembering what you had to look forward to.

You avoided looking at Ezra the entirety of class, afraid of what you’d see in those brown eyes. And as if the Kevva herself wanted to torture you, the class practically flew by.

You dismissed the class, and were typing some notes into your pad about the day’s discussions when a honeyed voice sounded in front of you.

“Did I do something wrong, professor?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thrilling conclusion! hope you enjoy :) and feel free to follow me over on tumblr @ezramando!

_“Did I do something wrong, professor?”_

You froze at the sound. A raspy, smoky bass, just as you had predicted, but what struck you was the honeyed drawl – a dialect that you didn’t recognize.

You took a deep breath before looking up from your data pad. The pair of deep brown eyes that had been haunting you for weeks stared back at you, filled with a mix of genuine curiosity and a bit of amusement. His air of confidence slightly irked you – you were his superior, and you had asked to speak with him, yet right out of the gate, he held all the power in the conversation. Everything you had rehearsed the night before left your head in an instant, and you were left gaping at the man.

“It was the plant, wasn’t it?” he continued, covering for you. “I must confess I did fret over the impropriety of it, but I simply couldn’t bear to watch you flounder any longer.”

You felt your jaw drop and your eyes flickered over to the little pot sat between you and your student.

“You…that was…you ordered the jade plant?” your voice was shaky, both intimidated by how _close_ Ezra was to you and out of pure shock at the revelation.

“I do apologize that I couldn’t find you a blue pot. This pleasant yellow color was the only available option,” he explained as if _that_ was the part of the situation you were caught up on.

“Ezra, this must have cost…why would you…” you trailed off, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well in my hasty research I did discover the old world meaning behind that particular succulent and it explained your difficulties that day,” he revealed, shifting forward to lean his elbow atop your podium. “You needed your lucky charm.”

You were overwhelmed. In such few words, Ezra had made everything so clear. _That’s_ why he’d used his data pad that day. He had been researching and arranging the delivery.

Words escaped you as you processed the information.

“And don’t you worry your pretty little head about the cost,” he spoke up once again. “Recent ventures in a past life brought me into more wealth than I know what to do with. But let’s keep that part between the pair of us, yeah?” He threw you a wink and it took every fiber of your being not to melt on the spot. Caught up in the slew of new information about the man before you after going so long without anything at all, you _almost_ missed the fact that he’d called you pretty.

“I don’t know how to even begin to thank you,” you stammered. “Or even pay you back, I–”

“Professor, getting to listen to your impassioned speeches about the writings that I hold dear to my heart two cycles a week is payment enough, I assure you,” Ezra countered with a wave of his hand.

“Um, that’s actually why I asked to speak with you,” you explained, voice still timid and face heating up at his comment. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t need this class. In my opinion, you are as much an expert in Earth classics as I am.”

Ezra let out a chuckle. “I will not bore you with details, professor, but I will reveal I’ve spent most of my past life as a drifter.” He paused, shifting his feet and sweeping his thumb across the stubble on his chin. “A particularly rough job left me down an appendage but with enough credits to never have to work another day in my life. So burdened with ample free time and alone in this vast universe, I found myself signing up for some classes pertaining to my personal interests. My hope was that I’d come across others who shared those interests, and maybe I’d make a friend or two.”

A soft smile appeared on his face as he finished his explanation and you couldn’t help but mirror him.

“I admit it’s much more enjoyable to read essays written by someone who actually knows what they’re talking about,” you confessed. “And some of the topics you’ve chosen–” you tapped at your pad, bringing up Ezra’s graded assignments. “I’d…I’d like to pick your brain on some of these…if you don’t mind.”

Ezra’s face lit up, revealing a little dimple in his cheek you’d never seen before. “Professor, I would be honored,” he said, his hand coming to rest on his heart.

An idea popped into your head at his enthusiastic reply. “Okay, what about this: an independent study. We could meet and discuss your essays…and we could even go into some of the less popular classic writers. The ones I don’t have time to cover in my class.” You could feel yourself getting excited at the prospect, getting to spend time talking about your passion with someone who shared that same passion. “And, and you wouldn’t even have to come to class anymore. I’d give you your course credit for our discussions.”

Ezra eyed you with a quirked brow and his signature smirk. He seemed to ponder your proposal for a moment, shifting his feet and shoving his hand into the pocket of his pants.

“Well you drive a hard bargain, but I’m sold,” the man professed with a nod.

The two of you agreed to meet on cycles opposite of your normal class period, opting for the campus cafe as your meeting spot. And after you insisted he call you by your first name, the man left you with a chuckle and a soft rap of his knuckles on your podium.

“See you tomorrow, professor.”

You practically floated home, your head swimming. You spent the evening rereading all of Ezra’s essays, furiously typing notes to yourself and questions you wanted to ask him. After dinner, you began to yank down dozens of old books from your shelves, debating with yourself which more obscure writers you’d like to cover in the independent study. And by the time you collapsed into your bed, you’d drawn up an entire curriculum to review with the mysterious man.

–

You found yourself tucked into a booth near the back of the cafe, anxiously fiddling with your tea cup. You had arrived fifteen minutes early out of both excitement and fear of being late and not getting to spend the full hour with Ezra. Butterflies fluttered away in your stomach at the concept of having so much time one-on-one with him. As nervous as the man made you, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. Maybe it was the ambiguous “past life” he’d alluded to or his brilliant mind or the timbre of his voice…or simply the combination of it all.

Ezra’s broad figure sliding into the other side of the booth pulled you from your musings.

“Good morning, professor,” he greeted with a nod as he slid the strap of his messenger bag off his shoulder. “I must confess the sight of you outside of our normal learning space is most peculiar.”

You let out a chuckle, face already heating up from just his simple greeting. “I guess the myth that us teachers only exist inside our classrooms has been shattered for you.”

“Oh, but confirming you’re a living, breathing person is the best news I’ve learned all week,” Ezra replied, flashing his signature smirk. “It makes becoming your friend a realistic venture.”

Everything about him flustered you, so you were left to simply stare at him and smile, unable to find the words to reply. Luckily, once again Ezra seemed to sense your struggle and spoke up again.

“So, where to begin?”

The two of you dove in, discussing each one of the assignments Ezra had previously turned in. You had some of them practically memorized from the amount of times you had reread them. You were able to settle into a comfortable rapport, feeling less flustered since the discussion topics were in your wheelhouse. Occasionally you’d get distracted as he spoke, getting lost in the dulcet tones of his voice. There was just something about the way his words fell from his lips. Passages you’d read hundreds of times suddenly sounded brand new and even more beautiful.

After reviewing each essay, Ezra made the mistake of asking you who your favorite writers were. You launched into a lengthy monologue, rambling uncontrollably. After several minutes of prattling, you realized you were talking the man’s ear off and quickly covered your mouth with your hand, letting out a muffled apology.

“What in Kevva’s name are you apologizing for?” he asked incredulously, a bright smile still on his face.

“I just…I can get rambly…and annoying–”

“Professor,” Ezra sternly interrupted, his tone surprising you. “I implore you to never apologize for having passions. They’re what keep us human in a society slowly eating away our true humanity.” He paused, staring at you for a moment. “And I think you and I both know how hard it is to find someone who shares our unique interests. So you, professor, are a breath of fresh air.”

Your cheeks felt so warm that for a moment you worried if you had a fever. The man was so skilled in making you completely speechless. Years of feeling alone and longing for someone to talk to had led you to this cafe, this table, face to face with someone who wanted to hear you. And all you could do was gape and stumble over your words.

“I, um…thank you, Ezra. You are too,” you finally answered, earning a dimpled grin from the man across from you.

This time the silence wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t because you were scrambling for something to say. The two of you simply sat there, soaking up each other’s company. Though the two of you couldn’t be more different, you still felt as if Ezra was a kindred soul. In the limited interactions you’d shared, he had shown he understood you better than anyone ever had before.

A vibration from your data pad broke the spell. It was your alarm, alerting you it was only a half hour until you had to teach your Hellassian poetry class.

“Duty calls?”

“I, uh, yeah. I have to go,” you explained, beginning to gather your belongings. “But, I’ll see you the day after tomorrow?”

Ezra let out a soft chuckle as he stood up from his seat, though you weren’t sure what you had done to earn it. “Indeed you will.”

He held out his hand for you, and after a brief moment of hesitation, you placed yours in his and he helped you stand from the booth. You didn’t know what was more stressful, how gentlemanly the action was or how _nice_ his hand felt in yours. His palm was a little calloused; your theory about him previously working with his hands might have had some weight to it.

You reluctantly let go and draped your bag across your chest.

“Until next time,” Ezra stated with a nod and a soft smile. You left him with a small wave and made your way out of the cafe, your heart practically thumping out of your chest.

You felt light as a feather as you made your way across campus. You taught your poetry class completely on auto-pilot, your thoughts turning to Ezra throughout the entire hour. You spent the shuttle ride home replaying each moment at the cafe, burning the memories into your brain. And as you laid in bed that night, for the first time ever you almost wished you could skip your Earth literature class day completely. You wanted to fast forward to your next meeting with Ezra, wanted to hear him speak, listen to him wax poetic about the classics. But you mostly wanted to be in his presence. There was something about him that made you feel more alive than you had in years.

So when the next morning came and you stood at the podium reviewing your lesson plan, you were surprised to look up and see Ezra perched in his normal seat in the back corner, a large grin plastered on his face. He shot you a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile sheepishly before you sighed and started the class.

–

After that, you went from seeing Ezra twice a week and never speaking, to seeing him four times a week and having in-depth conversations about everything and anything. The more time you spent with him, the more comfortable you got in his presence.

No matter how many times you insisted he call you by your first name, he still referred to you as “professor” every time.

“I tend to have a proclivity for monikers, professor,” he explained after the third time. “Though my own desire is for you to consider us friends more so than merely teacher and pupil, it would be a disservice to not refer to you by your earned title.”

And of course you couldn’t help but develop a soft spot for the man. You were intrigued by the mystery of his past – you could see glimpses of it in his eyes when he would make a side comment here and there. But as curious as you were, you never wanted to push him to talk about it. There was no doubt in your mind that part of him was ashamed of his history, but you didn’t care who he had been before. The Ezra that _you_ knew was caring, thoughtful, intelligent, passionate. And when he made references to his “past catching up with him one day”, you would feel your heart ache at the thought of anything happening to him.

The timbre of his voice and the twang of his dialect made the poetic words that the two of you would go over together each session sound even more beautiful. You remembered why you fell in love with the classics in the first place – Ezra lit that fire again, the one that had been slowly fading with each new semester of classes filled with students just trying to get a literature credit.

By the fourth week, your meetings with Ezra had become so casual that you wouldn’t even call them “study sessions” – they felt more like two friends sharing their interests and getting to know each other, and you hoped Ezra felt the same way. Part of you was nervous for what would happen once the term was over. He had described you as his friend, but would he want to continue to meet? You hesitated to bring it up to him, nervous that you would be crossing a line. Sure, your sessions didn’t feel like academic studies anymore, but that’s what they were. And you didn’t know how appropriate it would be to ask Ezra to meet with you outside of that notion.

Were you getting too attached?

You were mulling over the situation on the shuttle ride to class one morning as you held your yellow pot tightly. You stared at the emerald leaves and thought about the man who gifted the plant to you.

It was clear to you then: you had become attached long ago.

Since he sat down in that corner seat on the first day of class, he had you hooked. And then you read his words – his ardor for literature was addicting and you fell further down the rabbit hole. Each moment you spent with him pulled you closer and closer, until you were completely in his orbit. There was no going back.

You loved him.

But you had no idea what to do with this revelation. Your fear of rejection severely outweighed your desire to get closer to him. And even if in some parallel universe he felt the same for you, it wouldn’t be proper. At the end of the day, he was your student and you were his superior.

You tried to file away your thoughts when you arrived at the classroom. After placing the jade plant in its normal spot, you scrolled through your lesson plan for the day. The clock at the top of your data pad indicated it was time to begin, so you took a deep breath before you let yourself look up to see the man who’d consumed your entire morning.

“Alright guys, let’s talk Orwell–”

But his seat was empty.

Your instinct was to panic – Ezra never missed class. He had never even been tardy before. You willed yourself to breathe, focusing on trying to get the class discussion started. Maybe he was having a rough morning like you had all those weeks ago. You resolved to give him some time.

Except he didn’t show. Ten minutes passed, twenty minutes passed, and no sign of Ezra. You were shaken up – you began to stumble through your words and would lose your train of thought. You soon realized your hands were shaking and your heart was pounding. It didn’t sit right with you. A voice in the back of your head was practically screaming at you that something was wrong.

So you did something you’d never done in your entire teaching career: you dismissed class early. You cited not feeling well, and your other students didn’t seem to suspect anything. Besides, Ezra never spoke up in class, so they probably didn’t even realize he was missing – a thought that made your heart twinge.

As the last student filed out of the back of the classroom, you suddenly realized you had no idea what to even do. You had never thought to ask Ezra for his comm code. All of your communication with him had been either in person or via his submitted assignments. You knew so little about him that you wouldn’t even have any idea where to look for him. You didn’t even know his last name.

You made your way to the administration building, hoping they would have something, _anything_ in the way of information on him. Knowing you’d likely be stonewalled by the clerk, you took a deep breath, plastered a bright smile on your face, and made your way to the desk.

With some flirty comments about the young man’s haircut and batting your eyelashes a bit, you were able to leave with Ezra’s comm code. You practically sprinted to the shuttle station, knowing your home console would be more help than your data pad.

Once you were back to your apartment, you threw off your bag and placed your plant on the windowsill before frantically plugging Ezra’s code into your system. You began to rock on your feet as the console beeped, praying to Kevva or whoever was listening that Ezra would answer.

After three tries with no answer, you began to tear up. You were just so scared for him. With what little you knew about his past and the comments he had made in passing, you had a feeling he was in trouble.

That’s when you noticed his location was on.

His little red dot blinked in the middle of a neighborhood on the other side of the city – a not-so-friendly area that you tended to stay away from.

You knew it was dangerous. You even knew that there was the possibility that Ezra wouldn’t even be there. His data pad could be tossed into a dumpster or something. But you had to go. You couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Not for someone who meant so much to you.

So you pulled out a small thrower an ex bought for you years ago from a drawer and primed it before throwing it in your bag. You steeled yourself and headed for the shuttle station.

You clung to your data pad as you arrived at the unfamiliar shuttle stop. Heart pounding, you made your way through the dirty streets, following the map on your screen. As you got closer and closer to Ezra’s blinking red dot, you began to send one last prayer to Kevva that he’d be there. You had no idea what you would do if you found the data pad sans Ezra.

You turned down an alley, unsure if calling out for him would be a good move. But then you saw the flash of a familiar boot amongst some crates. You broke into a run, arriving at the missing man’s side in seconds.

The tears came again.

Ezra was laid out across a pile of trash, his face decorated in dried blood, his chest slowly rising and falling. For a moment you just gazed at him, heartbroken that he’d been hurt but so relieved that you’d found him. You gently cupped his scruffy cheek, careful not to touch any cuts he’d obtained.

“Ezra,” you called out, trying not to draw too much attention to yourselves. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Ezra,” you tried again, a little louder. “Please wake up.” The tears from your eyes dripped onto his torn shirt. “Ezra, please.”

You felt him shift slightly and a muted groan echoed from his chest.

“Ezra?”

His eyes blinked open rapidly before his stare focused on you.

“Professor,” he breathed out with a soft smile as he leaned into your touch. “It appears I have a lucky charm of my own.”

You couldn’t do anything but cry with relief as you looked at him. Ezra was alive, he was awake, and he was here with you. You wanted to throw your arms around him and never let go, but you held back, unsure of the extent of his injuries – and worried that you would then be crossing that boundary.

“I knew they’d catch up to me eventually,” he revealed. “And lucky for me, I think they got it all out of their system.

You helped him slowly sit up, one hand grabbing his and the other placed at the top of his spine. You didn’t want to ask follow up questions – you knew you didn’t want to hear the answers.

“I do apologize for being absent from your class today,” he croaked out before coughing, wincing in clear pain at the action.

You let out a half sob-half laugh at his remark. Of all the things to say.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re concerned about right now,” you replied, wiping at your cheek with one hand as the other continued to hold Ezra’s. He held your gaze, his deep brown eyes soft and warm.

“Any missed opportunity to be in your presence is a great loss,” he countered. “I’d hate to lose out on the chance to revel in your beauty and hear your angelic voice.”

The sides of your face warmed at his compliment as you shook your head in disbelief, a smile pulling at your cheeks.

“Leave it to you to make me flustered while you’re bruised and bloody and laying in trash,” you joked, earning a small chuckle from the man. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You helped him to his feet and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, making sure to grab his now cracked data pad from the ground.

“It’s a good thing you had this on you, or I would have never found you,” you explained as you tucked it into your own bag. The two of you began to hobble down the alleyway as you led him back the way you came.

“Oh, I would have made my way back to you somehow, professor,” Ezra replied in between pants. “I may not look it now, but I assure you I am quite the survivor.”

You smiled to yourself as one last tear escaped.

“I know you are.”

–

After helping Ezra into his seat, he held tight to your hand as you took the seat next to him. The two of you ignored all of the pointed glares of the passengers who shared your shuttle as you made your way back to your apartment. You hadn’t even bothered to ask him if he wanted to go back to his own place – you knew you had a practically unused field kit back at yours.

You rode in comfortable silence, Ezra’s hand still gripping yours. As you stared out the window at the passing city, you thought about everything he had said. How he thought of you as his lucky charm and how he didn’t want to miss out on being in your presence. How relieved he seemed to be when you found him. You couldn’t help but think that maybe, _maybe_ , he felt the connection between you. You had to be realistic with yourself – the two of you had crossed the imaginary boundary long ago. The day Ezra spent hundreds on credits so that you’d have your lucky plant. The day you asked to meet with him one on one for no reason other than your own personal gain. The day he came to your class anyway, even after you told him he didn’t have to. The day you decided to dismiss class early and travel across the city to find him when he was missing.

You turned to look at him only to find him already gazing at you. He looked at you like no one ever had before, like you hung the stars in the sky. You felt yourself well up with emotions, so thankful that this man had come into your life. Suddenly, you wanted to tell him everything; every feeling you’d ever felt for him, every thought you’d ever had about him. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you and how deeply you loved him.

But the stuffy, crowded shuttle was not the place for such a confession. So you simply gave him a watery smile and squeezed his hand. And somehow you knew he understood.

He seemed to gain some of his coordination and strength back by the time you arrived at your shuttle stop. He was able to walk on his own, but his hand never left yours as you led him to your building and up to your floor.

It wasn’t until the two of you made it into your flat that Ezra finally let go of your hand. You watched as he slowly walked about your tiny apartment, his eyes roaming across your bookshelves and the artwork tacked up along the walls. You left him to wander and explore as you popped into your bedroom to retrieve your field kit. When you returned, you found him seated on your couch, a book open in his lap that he’d plucked from one of your shelves.

“The heart can think of no devotion, greater than being shore to the ocean. Holding the curve of one position, counting an endless repetition,” he recited before looking up at you, a gentle smile on his face. “I haven’t laid eyes on a book of Frost’s poems in a long time.”

You returned his smile and took a seat next to him, opening the kit in your lap. “Well then it’s yours.”

“Now, I couldn’t possibly–”

“It’s my gift to you,” you insisted, unwrapping a bacta wipe. You cupped Ezra’s chin gently and wiped it across the cut above his eye. You felt him wince slightly, but he continued to stare right at you as you worked.

“There is no such gift greater than the gift of words,” he finally said, reaching to squeeze your knee. “Thank you, professor.”

This time the nickname stung a bit. Even after everything that happened, Ezra still considered you his teacher, nothing more. You felt your smile fall as you focused on cleaning the last of the cuts on his face.

Then he said your name. Your real name.

For a moment you thought you were imagining it. You’d always thought about what it would sound like on his lips, but you had resigned to never hear it.

Your eyes locked on to his and for a moment everything was still.

And then he was kissing you.

It felt natural, like his lips were made for yours. You kissed him back hard, mindful of his split lip but wanting to throw every emotion you had into it. You needed him to know how much you cared for him and you showed him with your lips.

When the two of you finally pulled away to breathe, Ezra’s hand slid up to cradle your face, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, lucky charm,” he murmured as he held you close. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to never lose you.”

You lost track of how long he held you like that, but he eventually let you finish tending to his wounds. He excused himself to shower in the fresher as you made the two of you some tea and something to eat. And after the two of you ate, you let him pull you into his lap as he asked you to read to him.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, slumped against the armrest. He looked so at home, like he was always meant to be there. And as you snuggled against his side, your eyes fell to the jade plant atop your windowsill. You smiled sleepily as you let your eyes close, thankful that the universe had given you two lucky charms.


End file.
